I'll keep you safe
by dragonheartt
Summary: Rewrite: Conphen!Verse : Three years ago Connor was friends with a man named Stephen, slept with said man, and ran in the morning, convinced he'd ruined everything. Three years later they're on a *super secret* team together. One night the team goes out for drinks, and Stephen Hart keeps the promise he made: he'll keep Connor safe. It brings both of their feelings to light...
1. Chapter 1

AN: I've been sitting here reading and re-reading this fic and wanting to re-write it... and finally my muse has cooperated!

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The buzzing in his head was well-strange. The way the room was tilted slightly off its axis probably wasn't a good thing, either. One too many drinks, his brain hissed at him, through the muzziness. Connor told the voice in his head to shove it. He knew he was a total lightweight, it didn't have to rub it in that he couldn't handle a little alcohol. Maybe coming here was a bad idea… but the others'd invited him along after the anomaly shout, and how could he say no to that? Connor not-so-accidentally had forgotten to inform them that he was this much of a lightweight. He hadn't wanted to be a spoil-sport, and now he was sitting here feeling like cotton balls'd been stuffed in his brain.

Maybe, Connor's mind suggested, amidst headache-inducing bursts of song from the radio behind the bar, the reason he'd not mentioned it was because he didn't want to think about the last time he'd gone drinking. That was the one and only time, because he'd ended up, well, in a certain situation - and to top it off he'd had a terrible hangover the day after. That'd been three years ago... almost to the day, oddly enough.  
He'd kinda sworn off drinking completely. But Stephen and Abby had encouraged him, and then Cutter and Jenny had joined in, and he'd been positively bullied into joining the team, plus a few of the day shift lab techs and the SF's for drinks. And now Connor was sincerely wishing he'd protested more, because one little drink had turned into another, and then another - far too many - and here he was, pissed to… well, his brain couldn't even come up with proper metaphors right now, that's how much of a bad state he was in.

The last time he'd gotten drunk this bad, he'd gone home with, and consequently slept with (and therefore lost his virginity with) a certain individual who'd still been asleep early the next morning when he'd panicked and left. A certain individual who obviously didn't remember that night at all, otherwise he would've shown some sort of recognition… And why the hell was he thinking about this?! Oh yes, Connor remembered now: it was because that person was a few feet away, chatting with Abby. Connor was sloshed enough to admit that he fancied the pants off of both of 'em -one more than the other even as he pretended it was the other way around - though not enough to even begin to consider the possibility of a repeat performance from that event three years ago with said individual.

Connor decided he ought to be a bit more drunk for this, and reached for his glass of something-or-other (Abby'd ordered it for him, and wow he should've listened to Stephen's suggestion that it might be a bit much), finishing what was left. That was a bit of an ill-advised decision, since it made the world tilt more dangerously. His eyes slowly unfocused, his gaze wandering - quite without subtlety by this point, alas - as if drawn by a magnetic force, to Stephen and Abby a few bar stools away.

It was his own fault he felt excluded, the alcohol going right to his head and making him unable to think fast enough to trust himself to conversing with someone he fancied. But he still moped when neither of them turned to include him. He could probably talk to Cutter and Jenny if he wanted to, but no, he'd rather torture himself by lurking on Stephen and Abby's conversation.

With his eyes unfocused and wandering, his mind did the same, and then Connor started in surprise when he realized that the focus of his attention was gone - both of them. Someone tapped his shoulder, and Connor squawked in alarm, spinning 'round - and wow, was that a bad idea - to see Stephen standing there, smiling. There was something in his gaze that made Connor want to kiss the man, but he glanced away and then back, staring at Stephen's nose instead of his eyes. Safer, that way.

"You okay, Conn?" The tracker asked, voice laced with something Connor wouldn't identify.

"Yep!" He answered brightly - too brightly, as evidenced by the chuckle and amused smirk from Stephen.

"Bit drunk?"

"Just a little. Not more 'n a drop too much, just a smidge …. 'n 'm completely sloshed, aren' I?" Connor babbled, feeling dizzy. Stephen gripped his arm to steady him, which only made him dizzier.

"Not 'elping." Oh joy, word vomit! He didn't need to say that... and it got him a raised eyebrow. Wait, why was he looking at his eyes again? Connor thought he'd told himself firmly not to!

"What's not helping?"

"You're makin' me dizzier, 'n I'm already too pissed for this, can' even talk straight, c'n I?" Good job, brain, explain. Sort of.

"Maybe I should take you back to the flat…"

"Where's Abby?" Connor asked, remembering the dissapearance of his flat mate from the vicinity, leaning awkwardly to look around Stephen. He nearly overbalanced, and the other man yanked him upright and kept ahold of his arm. Probably a good idea on Stephen's part, Connor relented.

"Woah, calm down. She spotted a friend, over there, see?" Stephen told him, pointing. Connor cautiously let his eyes follow the sightline, and relaxed at the sight of Abby by a table. After a moment, he realized Stephen was talking again, and decided it might be a good idea to listen.

"My flat's closer than Abby's. C'mon." Connor's brain was still catching up, muzzy as it was, when Stephen muttered something to Cutter, and then steered Connor out of the pub, into cool night air.

"When did it get so dark out?" He asked, looking up. Stephen chuckled.

"It's called night, Connor."

"I know tha', pretty boy." Did he just say that? Oh he hoped he hadn't just called Stephen pretty... even though it was true. "I'm drunk, no' 'n idiot. There's a diff'rence, yeah?" Connor stumbled and Stephen caught him again.

"Alright, but I wasn't the one who asked why it was so dark."

"No' wha' I asked, 'nyways." Connor mumbled, then glanced at Stephen's hand on his arm. Stephen could see the younger man's cheeks flushing slightly, even in the darkness, but said nothing "You c'n let go now."

"I think that'd be a bad idea, Connor. You're falling all over the place. If I were to let you go, you'd probably collapse right here on the sidewalk." Stephen commented, pulling the geek along.

"If y' let go, I migh' no' fall over 's much." Connor muttered, unsure whether he was saying it out loud or in his head.

Stephen glanced worriedly at him. Maybe bringing him to his flat was a bad idea. He was afraid that he'd be tempted to kiss Connor, or that in this state he would decide to kiss Stephen. The lovable geek was drunk off his arse and he could not allow himself to be fooled by anything Connor said or did 'till the alcohol wore off. If he'd felt anything for Stephen, he'd never have left so quietly that morning, or he would have said something when they bumped into each other. But no, Connor had _regretted_ sleeping with him, and it hurt.

Stephen'd at least half fallen in love with him three years ago, and this whole mess between them was because Stephen hadn't had the guts to ask his friend on a date, or talk to him. Instead, he'd gotten drunk with said friend... and then they'd had sex at his flat and he'd destroyed their friendship. That day Connor had run after he and Cutter, Stephen could have showed some sort of recognition, could've pulled the younger man aside and... he wasn't sure what he would've said, but he knows he should have spoken to Connor about that night. Stephen had been a bloody fool, and a coward, and - talking about it would have to wait until morning.

This was probably a horrible idea, bringing Connor to his flat, but he'd had little choice. His was closer than Abby's, for one thing... and the looks the oblivious drunken genius had been garnering from other patrons of the pub had made Stephen afraid that he would get distracted, and one of them would swoop in and take advantage of Connor. (Not that the younger man was unable to defend himself, but he was sloshed to hell and back.) So Stephen had decided to protect him. (It hadn't been so much a decision as... well, something else, a short circuit in his brain, of a sort. He hadn't even thought about it, just took the opportunity and acted.)

Connor was mumbling under his breath and clinging to Stephen by the time they got to his flat, and he fumbled for his key to unlock the door whilst supporting most of the younger man's weight. (How did someone so skinny seem to weigh so much? Stephen wondered if the alcohol weighed him down.)


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Chapter two of the rewrite may be a bit shorter, but I've changed some things, and I think the final segment will be really fun and fluffy (and angsty) because I altered this one so much.

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Connor spent most of the walk concentrating on several important things: not giving in to the impulse of kissing Stephen, not mentioning _that night_, and not falling on his arse. Stephen's arm was around his waist to support him, which made his heart hammer as badly as his head was, and he stumbled from that as much as the alcohol in his system.

The trip was blurry and fuzzy and he filled the time with thinking - possibly too much thinking, but Stephen wasn't very talkative, and Connor wasn't sure he could trust himself not to blurt out his_ feelings_, which would be highly embarrassing, so thinking would have to do. Stephen's fingers dug into his skin for a moment, like he was... Connor wasn't really sure, to be honest, but it felt like the other man was making sure that he was safe. That level of concern aimed at him from Stephen was odd, and confusing, because the only time he acted like this was when Connor was in immediate, life-threatening danger. Otherwise, the tracker had no problem laughing at him making a fool of himself, or stumbling around and falling.

Well, reasoned some dimly not-drunk part of his brain, it's possible Stephen saw something that Connor hadn't. But then, why had he allowed the others of the team to stay? Maybe...maybe he remembered what had happened the last time Connor got drunk? But that would mean that not only did Stephen have no feelings towards him, but also thought that he would sleep with anyone whilst drunk, which was extremely offensive. It was all too much to think about at the moment.

Besides which, Stephen hadn't shown any recognition at all, and there was nothing to suggest he remembered at all. (Not helping, Connor told his mind, feeling rather hurt either way.)  
He glanced at Stephen quickly, eyes narrowing, and for a moment felt the impulse to say something to him, to ask... When suddenly the older man shifted away, his arm moving away from Connor's waist long enough to fish a key out of a trouser pocket and unlock the door of the flat Connor just now realized they were stood in front of.

"C'mon." Stephen said, turning to look at him, an unreadable expression in his blue eyes. His arm looped around Connor's waist again, supportively. It felt nice. Connor wasn't really used to anyone exhibiting this sort of concern for him for no apparent reason, and especially not someone who he fancied the pants off of and had slept with once. After guiding Connro carefully to the sofa, Stephen vanished into another room, and Connor flopped down onto the cushions, groaning at the pain in his head. He shouldn't have agreed to go drinking.

Stephen's heart was beating double-pace, and he needed to step away from Connor for a few moments. The vulnerable look in the younger man's eyes had made him yearn to hold him close and never let go, had only increased the protectiveness he felt towards Connor. It was scary, to realize he was head over heels in love with a dorky, badly-dressed, adorable genius geek who so obviously regretted drunken sex three years ago with Stephen. To realize that there was no point in hoping, because there was no way Connor would love him in return. (And now, with Connor so drunk, was so not the time to discuss anything.)

He took several deep, steadying breaths and then walked back out to the living room, finding Connor sprawled on the sofa on his back.

"Connor." Stephen said, softly. Nonetheless, Connor jumped slightly, wincing when the movement made his vision swim again, and slowly sat up. Stephen frowned, crossing the room and sitting on the armrest near Connor's feet. "Pretty bad, eh? You never learn, do you?" The words fell from his lips without him thinking about it before hand, and Stephen was relieved when the other man failed to show any sign he understood the mention.

Connor stuck his tongue out at him, childishly, and the older man grinned for a moment, relaxing ever so slightly as the young genius responded with a dimpled grin of his own. They were both too exhausted, and Connor rather too drunk, to keep up the expressions and the mood for very long. Stephen watched him as he began to slouch down on the sofa, eyes fluttering closed. After a moment he had to ask,

"Tea? Or would you rather get some shut eye, 'n deal with the hangover in the morning?" Connor's only response was a gentle almost-snore, which made a soft smile flit to Stephen's face.

"Goodnight, Conn."


	3. Chapter 3

Connor woke all of a sudden with a groan. If he had thought that his headache the night before was bad, Connor was most especially unprepared for the incomparably horrible, painful feeling of someone drumming on the inside of his skull and behind his eyes that he awoke to. It was singularly awful, and while he didn't have much to compare it to, this headache was infinitely worse than the one he'd had three years ago. He forced his eye lids to open, and winced at the bright sunlight that accosted his eyes. Sunlight? He blinked a couple of times and realized that he couldn't remember last night past the first few drinks. What had happened, and how was it already morning, and why couldn't he remember? A flash of something drifted through Connor's mind, too quickly for him to grasp, and he huffed, frustrated. He relied on his mind, and right now he couldn't; it was part of why he hated drinking.

Connor blinked the sleep dust out of his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, frowning in confusion when his vision cleared to reveal not wood beams, but plain white ceiling. This prompted him to wonder if he was even in his- Abby's – flat, and if not, then where was he? Cautiously, because quick movements were known for making anything to do with heads and pain ten times worse, Connor sat up and looked around him.

He was sat on a dimly familiar sofa – he couldn't identify where he knew it from – which was dark grey and made of a soft fabric, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the night before. The walls were similarly as plain as the ceiling, with a few framed photos that he couldn't see from this angle. The place seemed familiar... Connor nibbled his lip and tried to ignore the drum beat of pain in his head. He remembered the bar, drinking, and flashes of conversation, as well as cool night air, but nothing else.

He couldn't help but worry about the memory loss, and the drinking; he had a bad, twist-in-the-gut type feeling. Alcohol and him, they didn't agree very well. The last time, and the reason he'd sworn off it in the first place... Oh. Connor groaned. At least now he knew why the sofa and the white ceiling and walls seemed so familiar.

Stephen yawned as he walked down the short hallway and entered the main room, leaning against a wall and smiling at Connor, who was sitting mostly upright on the sofa a few meters away.

"Good morning!" Stephen greeted, feeling unusually chipper. He felt bad, though, when the younger man jolted and then moaned, obviously feeling the aftereffects of his drinking. He walked around the sofa and stood in front of Connor, who looked up at him, mouth pulled into a grimace of pain. Stephen fought down the fond smile that tried to form on his face, knowing the other would take it the wrong way.

"I bet you have one _hell _of a hangover." He said, head tilted slightly to meet the younger man's gaze. Connor grunted, which he took to mean 'yes'. "Sorry." Stephen apologized, earning a questioning look, which he decided not to notice, and flopped down onto the sofa beside him.

"Wha' happened?" Connor asked, holding himself still in hope that it'd combat the drumming in his head.

"…What do you mean?" Stephen looked at him, confused.

"I mean, I don't actually remember anythin' past the first couple of drinks, an' I'd like to know why I slept on your sofa." Connor said.

"Ah. Well, I was concerned about how drunk you were, my flat is closer than Abby's, and Abby didn't want to leave yet." Stephen told him, smiling slightly.

Connor didn't feel up to pressing the issue, even though he was bewildered why _Stephen _had been concerned about him.

"You wouldn't happen ta have any coffee, would you?" He asked, instead, and was rewarded with a grin.

"Yeah, how do you take yours?" Stephen asked, standing up and turning back to face Connor.

"I'm not invalid, I'll make mine." He protested, getting to his feet. A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him, and he frowned at Stephen, who smirked, and pushed him lightly.

"You're a guest." Stephen said, which basically meant 'sit down or I'll make you'. Connor decided to take that as it was, and reluctantly sat, winning a pleased smile from the other man, who crossed to the open kitchen and set about making coffee for both of them. He closed his eyes, noticing the headache was already fading, and started humming a song he'd heard on the radio the other day. He could hear Stephen moving about in the kitchen space, and a thought occurred that made him open his eyes and stare.

"I didn't tell you how I like my coffee."

_Shit. _Stephen froze. Should he lie, or give in and stop pretending they hadn't been friends (and more than that) 3 years ago?

"Erm, I know. I was going to ask you when it was done." He couldn't; as hard as it was to admit it, Stephen was afraid of what that could reveal.

Connor frowned, but he was confused more than anything else. Not because that answer didn't make sense, but because he couldn't figure out why Stephen continued to deliberately not address the past. Was he that ashamed that he'd slept with Connor that he couldn't bear to discuss it? If so, why was he being so friendly towards him? It just didn't add up.

"Oh, OK." Connor said, shrugging even though Stephen wasn't facing him, even though it wasn't okay. Still, as much as he had his suspicions, and as much as part of him wanted to just say something about _that night, _he wasn't brave enough to think it worth the risks. If Stephen wanted to be friends, that was a good development, and he didn't want to lose it by talking about that time they had sex, and whether Stephen had any feelings for Connor. He closed his eyes again, and fell into a doze.

A few minutes later, he was awoken by having his shoulder shaken. Connor resisted the urge to whine at the pain in his head that resurfaced at the movement. Stephen saw the grimace on his face, and winced.

"Sorry." Stephen apologized. There was a pause, and then he flicked the younger man's nose. Connor's eyes flew open, an offended look on his face. Stephen thought it was adorable.

"Wha'?!"

"Wakey wakey, sunshine. Fresh coffee and toast on the table." Stephen said, beaming. Connor was positively glowering.

"Yes _mum."_ He said, gingerly righting himself, before getting to his feet. Stephen raised his eyebrows, but let it go, leaving Connor to follow in his own time. A few moments after he'd sat at the table and started putting jam on his toast, faint shuffling footsteps alerted him to Connor's presence, affirmed when the young man, bed-head and all, pulled out the chair opposite and flopped down onto it.

"Had a nice nap?" Stephen asked, munching on his breakfast. Connor, who had taken a sip of steaming coffee, mumbled something mostly unintelligible around his mouthful in response, and then spluttered, eyes tearing. Stephen laughed, winning another glare as the young man pressed a fingerless glove clad hand to his mouth. "It _is_ fresh, Conn; it's going to be hot."

"You could'a warned me!" Connor wailed, brows knitted together. Stephen immediately felt bad for laughing about it.

"Sorry. Are you alright?" He asked, gently, concerned. "Did you burn yourself?" Connor nodded, and then shook his head, frowning in consternation. Stephen fought down a grin at how utterly adorable the younger man looked; his luck, Connor would think he was being mean. "So you're alright, and you didn't burn your tongue?" He said, gently questioning, and earned himself a nod and small smile. Satisfied, Stephen went back to eating, taking a cautious sip of his own coffee first. "Good." He said, and, a moment later, heard the sound of Connor fixing his own breakfast across the table.

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence, and Connor was pleased to find that his headache was fading fast on its own. It was after he'd finished two pieces of toast with grape jam, half of his coffee, and started on a third piece, that he looked up from his plate, and spoke without thinking.

"I think we should talk." He had no idea how or why he'd said that out loud, because he _thought _he'd decided _not _to say anything like this. Connor felt his cheeks heat with a blush when Stephen's head jerked up, and the blue eyes met his own. A single eyebrow twitched up, silently questioning, and Connor decided '_in for a penny, in for a pound' – _in other words, fuck it, he's done regretting _–_ and cleared his throat. "About that night," he explained. The confusion on Stephen's face cleared, as Connor's blush darkened.

"Which part do you want to talk about?" Stephen asked, his voice carefully blank of intonation. Before Connor could say anything, though, the façade cracked, and there was something so close to anxiety written over the other man's handsome face. It made him pause, and rethink things. Maybe he'd been wrong…

"I left before you woke b'cause I was afraid you… would regret the whole thing. That you'd be ashamed." Stephen looked puzzled. "Of me." Connor clarified, shoulders dropping. His toast lay forgotten on the plate. "Can't exactly 'elp that I love ya, can I?"

Stephen was shocked into silence, and as it dragged on longer (he was trying to organize his thoughts into something coherent, but his mind was full of cheering, and it was really unhelpful), Connor began to look _more _uncomfortable.

"Nevermind." Connor muttered, ducking his head, the tips of his ears red. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet, wincing slightly at the remnants of his headache. Stephen looked up at him in alarm, and when the younger man took a step away from the table, he scrambled to his own feet and lurched towards him.

"No, wait!" Stephen said, catching one of his hands and tugging gently. Connor hesitated, and then moved back towards his friend, not quite meeting his eyes. "Connor, let me explain, please." The other man nodded, reluctantly. "I'm not good at… this…" He started, apologetically, "I thought you hated me, that you left because I took advantage of you and _you _regretted it had happened." Stephen didn't stop to take in Connor's expression, just barreled on. "And I didn't want to admit that it _hurt_ because I… care. About you, I mean. A lot." Stephen bit his lip and looked at the younger man, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Oh." Connor said, looking gormless.

"Sorry." He wasn't sure exactly which part of all this he was apologizing about, but he had to say it.

Connor hesitated, a smile forming on his lips, and then turned his hand so he was holding Stephen's, and tugged, pulling the other man towards him — and then they were snogging, lips on lips, and Connor was as enthusiastic in this as in everything else. Stephen responded happily, pressing back and dipping his tongue inside Connor's mouth and earning a practically pornographic sounding moan from him, and Stephen couldn't help but smile because he _loved _this man so much. Suddenly, bewilderingly, Connor pulled away, and pouted at Stephen.

"Oi! You lied!" He complained.

"What?"

"You told me I wasn' your type!" Connor exclaimed, frowning adorably.

"Oh yes, that. I did, didn't I?" He said, grinning impishly.

"You—!" Connor spluttered, swatting at Stephen, who caught his hands, and raised both eyebrows, feigning innocence.

"Yes?"

The younger man _growled, _and Stephen let Connor push him backwards 'till the older man's back hit the wall. A flash of concern passed over his features as he realized he could have hurt him, but Stephen grinned, a hand slipping up under Connor's shirt and tracing his hip, dismissing the apology he saw on his face with a light press of a kiss to lips. Stephen found himself with his geek pressed up against him once more, the snogging from moments ago continued 'till they were both breathless.

"Love you." Stephen whispered against Connor's lips.

**The End (of this fic...)**


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